Thursday, September 27, 2007

Sorry for the gap

Hi Folks.

I admit, I've been neglectful. I promised myself I would be better about the updating and sharing of stories/images, and here it is, having been more than a week since my last post. I apologize.

Anyway, I was going to update this weekend, but I was busy entertaining. You see, my parents were in town. They came down to check out my apartment, and I fooled them into thinking I don't live in squalor. Hey, let's see a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Rev:



That's them.


So true to form, the visit was plagued by some infuriating circumstances. Beautiful weather was called for all weekend, but as soon as we decided to head out and see the sights, BAM - sudden downpour. There was some grumbling, but we took it in stride. I mean, there's like a billion museums in this town, right? We headed out and walked to the train station. I pointed out sights along the way, and our feet became soggy and sad. Whateva, we were on our way. Then we got to the station, and my father got in an argument with the Metrocard vending machine, who posited that the dispensing of change over $6.00 is morally wrong, while Mr. Rev countered with swearing and a search for smaller bills. I acted as moderator and we struck a compromise.

Just in time to see the man in the glass booth write 'NO SERVICE' on that white board he has, also in the glass booth. This time, father and son joined in the cursing together. Suddenly, a train rolled into the station. Now, the station is at the end of thee line, so just because a train appears, that doesn't mean it's going anywhere soon. But it did mean we had a place to sit. Here's me and Mrs. Rev sitting:


That other man isn't part of our family.

I also have a picture of my father on the train, but it looks as though he has some sort of palsy. I'm not sure it needs to be published. Anyway, contrary to what we all agreed would happen, we did not die on that train, even though it took a very long time to get into Manhattan. On the plus side, it had (largely) stopped raining.

One thing my Mom wanted to do was to go on the Staten Island Ferry. No, really. It's a good way to see the Statue of Liberty, and also she wanted to get an idea of the Hell in which her youngest son had dwelt for far too many months.


This is the statue.


This is the Hell.


Here's me pointing out the cloud that's made not of water vapor, but of human sorrow.

Here's my Dad and I on the Ferry.


I see no resemblance.

After that, we went up to Canal street to do some crowded shopping of illegal merchandise. I also took the opportunity to get this photo of quite possibly my favorite shop sign in Manhattan.


I'm not even going to caption this.

After that, we had some dinner and scored tickets to SPAMALOT!


See?

The show was funny, but I'd probably kill a guy for the chance to see the original cast. After the show, we weren't quite ready to call it a night. So...

BEER GARDEN!


Now that's a good looking group of Revs.


Oach showed up, too.

I guess the moral of the story is that even if the day starts off nasty and rainy, we can all look forward to Czech beer at the end. Unless it rains all day. Which it didn't then. But it could. So... there are no lessons. Check back for day 2 of NYC fun with the Revs.

Peace out,

(Your) Rev

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Raised My Ire.

So I'm sitting in my living room, inexplicably watching the series premier of Gossip Girl. Perhaps I feel that the alliterated Gs will soothe the gaping hole left by the departure of Gilmore Girls. Perhaps I like to imagine how cool it would be to be a fantastically wealthy 30 year old teenager. Or perhaps it's Wednesday, and the CW marketing people are really, really good at their jobs.

Whateva, I'm bored so I think I'll blog.

A warning in advance. Please try and see beyond the repeated use of the word "pole" in this post. That's what it is, and I'm not running to thesaurus.com to sideline our immaturity.

So today on the subway I wanted to punch someone. More than usual. And a specific someone. So there I was, commuting home. Being a gentleman, I was standing, holding the center pole so that others less burly and masculine could grab a seat.

Oh My God, the girl that plays Serena is only 20 years old. She looks like she's at least 37.

So there I am, minding my own business when this woman comes on and heads towards the pole which I am using to steady my balance. She then proceeds to half lean, half wrap, half stand against it. She is using an absurd percentage of this pole. During rush hour. And I still have to use it.

Oh yeah... Jenny. That's more like it. Seriously, Serena looks like Helen Hunt 4 years ago.

And it ends up that the way she avoids hitting my hand off of the pole is by maneuvering herself so that my hand is in the hollow between her shoulder and cheek. This is not a good thing. This isn't some kind of dear Penthouse letter, where I never thought this would happen to me. This woman was tired and busted. Like she had just finished a triple shift at the sweat shop. The heebie-jeebies started crawling down my spine.

Wow, that guy with the eyebrows is such a bad boy. He's trouble. So scheming, with an undercurrent of dangerous. We'd better watch out for him. Or he's a DBag who is not convincing at all. And appears to be made of some sort of porcelain.

So I'm stubborn, and won't move my hand, because I was there first, and there are other people whose space I'm not about to intrude on because of one crazy... Oh God, her hair is hitting my hand. There goes next week's appetite. Still, I hang on. Perhaps the train will jerk and I'll get to punch her in the face, completely by accident. I'm sure it's not the strangest prayer the Lord has received since he created the earth 6,000 years ago.

Oh my God, I know that place! I watched a terrible bagpiper there! Just think, I could have seen the taping of a terrible TV show there. Wow, this show totally gets what NYC is like.

Ok, she just breathed on my arm. That's the last straw. It's either move, jostling people and apologizing like a madman or projectile vomit on other commuters. My God, it's like she's trying to absorb the pole in some sort of amoebic digestive process. You sicken me, woman.

But not as much as Gossip Girl.

Later
Rev

Sunday, September 16, 2007

I Love a Parade, Part... something

Hooray, another parade!

These just seem to happen all the time in this city. I stumbled across this latest completely by happy coincidence. I was downtown on Friday, and seeking to head uptown on the R or W, so headed over to City Hall. There I was met by a large crowd of German people, smiling and conversing in their angry language. Many of them had traditional clothing on, and there were bands here and there, playing oom-pah music. I made sure I wasn't hallucinating, then tried to find out why such an assembly existed.

Before I could do that, however, one of the brass marching bands busted out in a vaguely familiar tune. It took me several seconds to place it as 'All the Small Things' by Blink-182.


Welcome back, 2000!

So, after rocking out a little (lot), I managed to find a banner proclaiming the 50th Annual German-American Steuben Parade! I had stumbled upon the official welcome at City Hall, and the parade was to take place at noon the next day!

I was pumped, and also sad. Sad because I am without my German-festing hat, let alone my Leiderhosen. Pumped because, let's face it folks, few people know how to parade like the Germans.


Much like the French, I just couldn't resist.

Anyway, The Steuben Parade is named after Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben, a man far cooler than both of us.


That's why he gets several of these.

If you ignorant savages don't know anything about the man or what he did to deserve such accolades, I suggest checking out his wikipedia page HERE.

Anyway, starting at noon, the parade was to progress along fifth avenue from 63rd to 86th street. I like to sleep in, so I missed both the beginning of the parade and the 11:55 kickoff of the 50th Annual Frenchman 23 Block Sprint.

Picture Time!


5th and 72nd


man with flag and mustache



Few things say "I'm gonna mess you up" like a Halberd.


Finally, someone else not wearing pants. Boy, do I feel less embarrassed.



Rarin' to go.



Before.



After.

I didn't get a picture of them, but one police organization brought a group of bagpipers. To the woman who happened to be watching the parade on my left, I jokingly said "Geez, you can't have any kind of parade around here without the Bagpipers getting in." *

It was not until I received an over-enthusiastic "Yes!" in reply that I realized she spoke no English.

After the parade, there was a big party in Central Park, with a beer garden and tents, and food and all sorts of good stuff. It looked like this:



All in all, I had a very good time. Good food, good music and funny short pants. That's pretty much all I need. I leave you now with a picture of my lunch.


The wurst part of my day.

Catch you later,

Rev






*I had forgotten about the Puerto Rican Day Parade

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Wherein I attend The Tyra Banks Show and libel a fashion designer

So after weeks of waiting, the moment finally came. Oach and I attended a taping of The Tyra Banks Show. I had signed up for tickets some time ago, when my boredom and masochistic tendencies had reached an all time high. PS - I'm still waiting for my tickets to The View to come through.

In my defense, A) these shows often give away free stuff to the audiences, B) they are generally air-conditioned, and 3) there's always the chance that something like this will happen again:


Nice.

The time was approximately 9:45 AM. Oach and I showed up at the stage door of the Tyra program dressed in our finest TV taping clothes. The show has quite the dress code. I'd like to think we put it to shame. As soon as I can figure out when the particular episode is to air, I'll be letting you know so you can set your VCR/Tivo/call in sick to keep an eye out for the two of us.

Anyway, we looked good. So we were a little surprised to see a young woman in front of us in jeans and a sweater who looked a little under the weather. She was drifting back and forth a bit, and at one point she left the line to return with a large bottle of water from which she took several unenthusiastic sips. Her hair was greasy and unkempt, and her makeup was largely nonexistent, save for an accumulation of foundation around her hairline.

She looked a lot like the way I feel after a night of several too many Uncle Charlies.
Magic headache generator.

Basically, I felt bad for this girl. I wanted to give her the free samples of Advil that were being handed out in front of Penn Station, except I don't accept things that are handed to me in the street. Except/Accept... weird. Anyway, the last time I took a handout, I wound up looking down at a card promoting Scientology and laughing in the distributor's face. I don't think I'm alone in saying that if I'm going to follow a religion made up by a fiction writer, I'm choosing something from Vonnegut.

Oach and I attempted to make up some sort of backstory as to how someone would show up to the studio in such a condition. Did she fall out of an airplane leaving JFK into a landfill, causing anmesia, and the only thing she could remember was Tyra's studio address? Were she and her friends pre-Tyra show partying too hard and her cell-phone's alarm clock woke her up in the gutter several minutes before taping began? I'm pretty sure some combination of the words "pull" and "train" was also bandied about.

After we got inside the studio, we lost track of this damsel in distress, and couldn't figure out where she went, until halfway through the taping, when she reappeared as one of Tyra's guests. Now I'm not going to name names, but I'll let you know when the episode is to air. Oach and I retconned her backstory to include the stress of fashion week and the fact that Tyra's stylists were going to make sure she looked pretty good. Still wondering why she was hanging out with the audience for an hour, though.

But to the show itself. Pretty good. Oach and I were most definitely the minority in the audience, being straight white males. We still had a good time, and cheered as much as anyone. Though I think I'll be featured rather prominently in the broadcast if the editors decide they want a shot of 'bemused incredulity.'

The show itself was mostly fashion week prerecorded segments, requiring Tyra to only have to do some introductions and a mini fashion show. However, I have an issue with Kimora Lee Simmons, who was scheduled to shoot an interview with Tyra. However, she showed up 3 hours late. This had an upswing, as to fill the time Tyra's crowd warm-up dude threw together an impromptu competition between sections of the audience, during which Oach strutted his stuff on Tyra's runway. The intro conversation, as near as I can recall it:

"Hey, what's your name, and where are you from?"

"Hi, I'm [Oach] from Queens"

"And have you ever walked on a runway before?"

"Of course"

"Really, whereabouts?"

"Oh, you know, Paris, Milan..."

and then the strutting started.

Kimora, this doesn't excuse your tardiness.

2004 drug possession arrest, anyone?

Also, you will be pleased to hear that my plan to receive fabulous prizes completely worked!

Check out my free gift, Oach and I really hit the mother lode with this one:




That's right...

FOUR colors of nail lacquer AND Lip Gloss.

Is it poppin' ? I'll let you be the judge.

It was really difficult to walk home from Chelsea carrying this bag. But totally worth it. Someday, perhaps.

Anyway, my newest prizes have already been added to my type tray, or as I call it, story board. Most of the Revs in my family have similar ones. Here's mine, so far:



It's a work in progress.


Later,
Rev

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

When it rains, it pours

Hello folks,
So much has been going on these past days, it's been slightly crazy. I'm going to try and recall as much as possible, so this post may become a long one. It really depends on how lazy I'm feeling.

On Friday I did a temp gig. This particular assignment was challenging because I wanted to laugh right out loud every five minutes. The reason? This organization was the American Guild of Organists, and I'm fantastically immature. It was hours of organ-mail sorting, and organ-stuffing of envelopes. Amidst the giggles, however, I really took some bizarre satisfaction in the mindless repetitive labor. Sort of a zen thing, I suppose. Got the juices flowing.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but for the last two weeks, Oach and I have played host to a friend of mine from first grade. He was working over at the U.S. Open, with some fancy press pass credentials. Basically, he would leave around 8:30 AM and get back around 1:00 AM. It was nice having him around, and soon enough he'll hopefully live around here on his own merit. He is also the author of the tennis blog linked to on the right over there. Or HERE.

But as a way to thank us for our hospitality, he took Oach and I out to dinner at The Spotted Pig. I highly recommend this place. On a scale of one to ten, I give it an awesome. However, we've never been known for our planning skills, so by the time that we sat down to dinner the clock showed approximately 11:30. It was crowded, and their house beer was served british-style (warm), but the rabbit made it all better. It was my first experience with that particular game animal, but now I'm a convert. I am completely on Elmer Fudd's side.


Godspeed, hungry warrior.

But I suppose the main thing that I did was that 24-hour theater project. It was a lot of fun and I met new people and saw some old ones with whom I had lost contact. I shall now treat you to some photos of the creative process. You can also check out the hour-by-hour blog (to which I contributed) HERE.

Here's a bit of the writing process:


the cool people brought laptops.

Here is a dog that lives at that apartment. His name is Buddha Stalin.



Here is the initial readthrough of the script that was forced upon the actors by depraved, twisted writers.



This is Bun, she was in charge of publicity, balloon dogs and making faces.


Here's Oach; directing



And meditating.



This is Ricardo. He stayed up the whole night. Oach, Bun and I were the only others to do so. Everyone else sucks.



That's all for now... tomorrow Oach and I are attending a taping of the Tyra show! Be jealous.

Later,
Rev

Saturday, September 8, 2007

24 Hour Project

Hey folks,
In a gross oversight of the potentials of blogging, I forgot to tell all of you that as of 3:00 this afternoon, I am involved in a 24 hour theater project. Interested? Aroused? You should be. Basically, myself and 12 or so other fantastic people get together, and in the space of 24 hours, write, rehearse and put on an original theatrical work. My title? Head writer. I actually just finished the script a few minutes ago, and passed it on to the director, Oach. With our powers combined, we are Captain Awesome. A little like Captain Planet, but without the eco-propaganda.

Anyway, the performance of the insanity that burst forth from mine and co-writer Nick Kocher's head is to be performed tomorrow at 2:00 at the plaza on the corner of 57th and 5th. Come check it out if you're morbidly curious.

Right now I get to kick back and watch the rest of the process, making last minute script Rev-isions. Check that out, that's wordplay, bitches.


Peace Out,

Rev

Monday, September 3, 2007

Another medium conquered

So on Saturday I was roused from my bed by a Jehovah's Witness. I didn't cuss him out because he had his young niece with him. With their religion he'll have plenty of explaining to do in the years to come, and I didn't think I should make things worse by introducing the concept of 'skunk-whoring' at such a tender age. Anyway, later on that evening, I decided to make my own artistic creation using nothing more than the literature I received and my trusty knife.

Voila.



It was certainly more fun than actually reading them.


Be back soon,

Rev